London's Burning
by Home
Summary: Spike and Drusilla return to their hometown of London to wreak some havoc and have some fun during the Queen's Golden Jubilee celebrations.
1. God Save The Queen

Title: London's Burning  
  
Summary: Spike and Drusilla return to their hometown of London to wreak some havoc and have some fun during the Queen's Golden Jubilee celebrations.  
  
Rated: Over 15s only, for graphic violence and adult themes.  
  
Disclaimer: Spike and Drusilla belong to God (AKA Joss Whedon). I own nothing and make no money from this. I am just a fundamentally bored suburban individual.  
  
  
  
Dedicated, with admiration, to Johnny Rotten.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN  
  
"'Tis strange with how little notice, good, bad, or indifferent, a man may live and die in London." - Charles Dickens  
  
Amid the million-strong crowd packed like red, white and blue sheep along The Mall, around the Victoria memorial and outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, two dark figures hovered close together. Even in the thick crush of patriotic humanity that had turned out to sing, wave flags and toast the Queen for her Golden Jubilee, the two stood apart from the rest. Despite the communal and united high the swaying masses exhuded, people seemed none too eager to be pressed too close to them. The great tide of people often surged forward, pushing folks to one side and nearer the mysterious couple in the shadows, but quickly and awkwardly those folks scooted back into the throng, glancing warily back over their sholders mumbling frightened apologies at the eerie couple. Under the shade, just beyond the glowing circle of lamp-light, the two seemed surrounded by an unquestionably dangerous aura. Bathed as they were in shadow, most people were wholly unaware of them until they were shoved into the couples direct vicinity... a position none so far had held for more than a minute, despite the excellent view of the celebrations. The two, a tallish man with bright white hair and a long black coat, and a thin, elegantly gothic woman in a dark whimsical dress, stood under the shade of one of the meticulously maintained maple trees that lined The Mall. He stood behind her, one arm draped lazily around her sholder the other firmly planted around her waist. She clutched at his hands like an excited child, while resting her head languidly, sensually against his neck. Her emerald green eyes sparkled in the darkness, turned toward the sky.  
  
"Look, Spike! Look at all the fire! Such pretty fire.. I should like to touch it.."  
  
"Best not, Princess. I prefer my sweet plum marinated in red, not en flambe."  
  
"I'm thirsty Spike.. I feel it flowing all around us like a red river.. will we drink soon?"  
  
"Soon as the crowd thins out a bit, luv. When the fireworks are over.. you just keep watching the sky for now. Enjoy the fireworks.. we'll make some of our own later."  
  
"So many people dressed in red, did you see? All over the city.. red crosses painted on their faces.. like blasphemous invitations.. they've marked themselves for our pleasure, Spike. They want us to pick them. Blaze those red crosses across their hearts.. they're waiting.. asking for it."  
  
"I think it probably has more to do with the football, pet... but, of course, your interpretations are rarely too far off the mark. We'll give 'em what they want tonight, eh? Crucify the insincere?"  
  
"They've blood of the heart on their faces.. and we shall take it."  
  
"Right after the fireworks.."  
  
"When the embers glow quietly in the hearth.."  
  
"We'll start a new fire of our own, pet. Don't you worry. Easy pickings, tonight."  
  
The sky lit up furiously. Showers of golden light cascaded through the night, exploding fitfully across the canopy of stars, illuminating the edges of the dark gathering clouds. The crowd ooh'd and ahh'd in unison, the sounds of awe echoing down the wide streets and drifting into the darkened allyways beyond. The Union Jack flags, seemingly draped over every post and pole for miles, waved majestically in the breeze, flapping waves of that ingrained Empirical spirit into the hazy national pride of the enraptured crowd. Everything to disigned to distract. Everything purposefully arranged to detract attention from the failings, the disillusionment, the apathy of the people toward their country, it's systems and it's monarchy. If only for one weekend. Spike, one of very few not fixedly watching the enormous firework display above, eyed the crowd carefully. So many of them, the TV had said over a million, had converged upon the center of the city for this. To celebrate something most of them spent the rest of their time slagging off. Spike allowed himself a sly smile. He never ceased to be amused by the hypocrisy humans could muster at times of national importance. Or when there was fun to be had and copious amounts of alcohol to be consumed at least. It was the same the world over. He nuzzled his face into Drusilla's neck, kissing the cool, porcelain-like skin just above the spot where her jugular would, under natural law, have lain pumping, echoing it's mistresses intoxicating heartbeat. Drusilla giggled, eyes still avidly watching the dramatic flashing sky above, gold and green and red all reflecting and sparkling in her eyes.  
  
"Don't you feel the fire, my William? It's in their hearts as in the skys. Tonight we shall feel it in our throats, our bellies.. We'll swallow their pale fires, won't we Spike? And light up our own with their embers."  
  
"Too right, we shall, my love. Too right."  
  
******************************************  
  
Less than a mile away, the wide ancient river lapped fiercely. The fireworks reflected in the murky water, sparkling, making the small waves on the Thames break with what seemed like sinister merriment. The darkened sky twinkled, the river splashed darkly, heavily. The people, half drunk as most were, threw caution to the wind and breathed in deep lungfulls air, lazily smiling at the unique scent of the midsummer London night. Floods of people strolled aimlessly along the long ornate banks of the Thames, taking in the sights, singing loudly and off-key, enjoying the glow of the city at night, wallowing in the party atmosphere, smiling drunkenly, carelessly in the company of so many hundreds of thousands of complete strangers. The feeling was one of community, of fearlessness. Nothing could touch you on a night like this. Everyone was there for the same reason. No-one could come to any harm when every stranger came with a smiling face. The night was young and the party just getting started.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Before the last strains of 'Land of Hope & Glory' had faded and the crowd began to dissipate slightly, Spike and Drusilla slipped quietly from the scene. They glided together through the teeming crowds, always keeping slightly to one side, close to the shadows, observing with amusement (and not a little hunger) the people tripping down the streets, clutching their bottles of wine, leaning on one and another for intoxicated pseudo-company. Drusilla smiled at the open-shirted men who yelled obscenities at her. Her smile grew even wider when Spike put his fist through a nearby, particularly loud-mouthed, young man's face, sending him sprawling backwards at least 20 feet. Spike noted with some satisfaction, before continuing to steer Dru through the increasingly rowdy throng, that the boy landed heavily, and with a distinct cracking sound, on his head. Dru giggled as they moved off and leaned into Spike, stroking his angry face away with the back of her hand before placing a light kiss on the end of his nose. Spike and Drusilla made their way through the bustling streets at a leisurely pace. There was no hurry. These people weren't going anywhere fast, the more sociable areas of town would most likely be packed til dawn and beyond, what with the next day being a bank holiday. No-one had to work tomorrow, no-one had anything to lose by giving themselves up to the night, under these circumstances no-one would be missed til the weekend at the earliest... should anyone mysteriously vanish amid the revelry. Spike was enjoying himself, despite the relative lack of violence the evening had so far produced, he was having fun. He always enjoyed London, not because he really considered it his home town anymore, (the world was his and Dru's for the taking. A global night time playground. One place where they could feed and have some fun was no more considered home than any other,) but they both had their favourites and old affections. The enormous filthy city undoubtedly held a great deal of memories for them both. Every time Spike visited he always liked to set aside one night to go down to the off-market spot in Whitechapel where Drusilla had sired him so many years ago and make violent love to her in the shadows. The place seemed infused with a dark energy that never failed to turn him on. Every corner of the old East End conjured memories of the first bloody rampages after his turning, the atmosphere sent him raging. The streets were much the same, narrow, dark, they were still permeated, drenched with the excitement, freshness and liberation of those times. Spike swore he could hear the screams echoing still, smell the long since dried and disapated pools of blood, see the corpses laying crumpled in darkened doorways, their light footsteps on the cobblestones as they slipped away into the night. His first kills. Red rivers flowing slowly through the gutters, ripped flesh, torn clothes and broken bones left behind, their onimous wake. Just the rancid smell of the place brought it all flooding back to him. He knew every inch of the city, making it an ideal and spectacular hunting ground. The was simply nowhere to hide.  
  
******************************************** 


	2. Going Underground

Chapter 2  
  
GOING UNDERGROUND  
  
Drusilla adored the London Underground. She said they were like burrows. The feeling of descending, being wrapped deep in the bowels of the earth, the thunderous noise of the trains as they careened along the pitch-black tunnels... the way the combined volume would perfectly blot out any and all sounds of agony, fear or protest. She always wanted to catch the underground mice (that scurried around beneath the tracks) and keep some as pets, tiny though they were and thoroughly blackened with pollution. She had once asserted, as she stood at the very edge of the platform watching them flit back and forth between the cracks, that the underground mice were all little vampires. Dark scavenging creatures, despised and feared by humans, living at once so obviously amongst them and completely apart from them, no human would dare attempt capture! Only occasionally would you catch a glimpse of one, hurrying back into the shadows, belly full. She loved the mice. They never saw the light of day.  
  
As they passed Goodge Street tube station, Dru tugged at Spike's sleeve, pulling him gently toward the entrance.  
  
"What lies beneath.. what lurks below.. Would my dear boy agree to a peek? See what worms we can find squirming beneath the streets.."  
  
"I don't think they'll be many down there this time of the evening Dru.. all still nicely sequestered in the pubs getting thoroughly rat-arsed about now. Down by the river, that's the place for us.. for a good drink.."  
  
Dru pouted, lowering her huge Fortune teller eyes to the ground, she hunched her sholders like a child being scolded by a parent. Her lower lip began to tremble dangerously. Spike quickly cupped her chin in his hand and ran his other hand up her arm in a comforting apologetic motion.  
  
"But, of course, if my wicked plum wishes it, down we shall go. See if we can't find a couple of stragglers lost in the rat maze, eh?"  
  
Drusilla's demeanor immediately softened and she melted against Spike, purring against his neck and lightly grazing it with her teeth. They moved as one down the stairs into the almost deserted underground station.  
  
"The mice will envy us a meal... we should leave them some scraps." she said, as she watched eagle-eyed for the subteranean rodents to make a fleeting appearance. Her eyes flicking back and forth excitedly.  
  
Spike sniffed and glanced up and down the empty platform. His voice echoing off the tiled walls.  
  
"Not a problem, my sweet. I'll make sure there's lots of little mouse-sized pieces left over for them to munch on."  
  
At the far end of the platform a twin set of bright headlights beamed out of the fathomless darkness of the tunnel, getting larger and brighter. The train thundered past them, screaching along the tracks, rattling it's doors, brakes screaming as it slowed at the end of the platform. The train was one of the old, decrepid types sometimes still found on the Northern Line. Small hatch type windows that you could open a few inches while the train was moving and wooden floors. The type of dangerous-looking contraption that should, by all intents and purposes, have been taken out of commission at least 15 years ago, but still trundled through the maze of tunnels beneath the city, propelled along by a gust of MP's excuses about budgets and improper funding. The sort of train you wouldn't want to be on under most normal circumstances, but moreover the sort of train that no-one who valued their life would want to be on at that precise moment.  
  
Spike, holding Drusilla's hand lightly in his own, escourted her into the end carriage as the doors opened. A slow smile spread across her face as she surveyed the occupants of the carriage (or almost total lack thereof.) Spike held her waist and rested his chin on her sholder as the train began to move off.  
  
"See anything you fancy, Princess?" he whispered loudly in her ear. The train picking up speed, noise growing louder, reverberating through the car.  
  
"Mmm..." she sighed back, "I knew we'd find dark angels down here in the hue of dungeons, Spike. Mmm.. I want that one.."  
  
Dru motioned slowly toward a thin woman in her early-30's sitting alone near the middle of the carriage.  
  
"Anything you desire, my pet. Shall I?" offering with his eyes to bring the woman over for closer appraisal. Dru smiled and gave a small slow nod. Spike sauntered over to where the woman sat nervously pretending to read the late edition of the Evening Standard.  
  
"Excuse me Miss," Spike intoned in an elaborate and mocking upper class accent, "Do you happen to believe in sharing?"  
  
The woman stared up at Spike, who was looming over her, tapping the top of her newspaper with his fingers, and standing far too close for comfort.  
  
"Pardon?" said the woman in a reedy, frightened voice.  
  
"SHARING!" shouted Spike directly in her face. The woman let out a small squeak of terror and inched back in her seat trying desparately to find a way of moving from underneith Spike's taut arms that were now planted like iron bars on either side of her seat, gripping the armrests, pinning her where she sat. Drusilla giggled loudly a few feet away and clapped her hands in excitement. Spike fixed her with a wicked smile, then got right up in the woman's face with his own. He could feel her short panicked breath on his cheeks, the frightened tears welling up in her wide wild-looking grey-blue eyes.  
  
"I asked you if you believed... in sharing. Well? What have you got to say? It's bloody impolite not to answer a simple querie from a fellow passenger y'know, luv..."  
  
The woman could no longer do anything so much as whimper and let the globulous tears spill over and flood down her cheeks, leaving thick smudgey trails of black mascara to line her face in messy patterns.  
  
Spike leaned in closer, close enough to be sure she would feel the coldness of his breath on her make-up stained face, close enough for her to understand that there was no way out of this. He changed his tone of voice, dropped it to a low, sinister and malicious whisper and, brushing aside a stray lock of mousey-brown hair from the woman's ear, softly explained..  
  
"I'm going to SHARE you with Dru.. and then, you see, Dru is going to share what's LEFT of you with those nasty little rodents that infest these places. Those thouands of scurrying litle disease ridden MICE are going to nibble at your flesh, pick clean your bones and run riot through your skull.. maybe turn your head into a fun-wheel for themselves, who knows? There'll be nothing of you to go to waste.. this is one of the many virtues of sharing. But you know what my FAVOURITE part about sharing is..?"  
  
Spike grabbed a fistfull of the woman's lank hair violently, and yanked her up out of her seat by it (noticing with a laugh and a kind of cruel satisfaction that the seat was now soaked-through, the acrid smell of warm urine wafting throughout the carriage) Spike tugged at the woman's hair, pulling her head back so far that her neck looked as if it might easily snap in any one of four different ways. Her fear-drenched eyes could only focus on the strip-light on the ceiling. She whimpered and managed a pathetic strangled scream as he shoved her along the carriage toward Dru, timing his release of her hair and the position of his foot just right so that she tripped over heavily, sending her head crashing, face-first, into the plexi-glass partition.  
  
"My favourite part is the giving. It more than compensates for any lacking in receiving, I find."  
  
The dark running make-up, tears and blood mingled all over her face as she sprawled on the floor, making her look like a bad day in the trenches. Her face had lost all it's natual colour, it now resembled a canvass as off- white as recycled paper, with a swirling mix of inky black and blood red watercolours. Flecks of purple, blue and yellow bruising were beginning to frame the distorted picture. Drusilla held the flailing woman by the throat, digging her long talon-like nails into the soft flesh of her neck. With one index finger she drew a little swirl in the blood on the woman's cheek and smiled evilly, tipping her head to one side.  
  
"Shhh... little girl.. Mummy says be quiet for a moment, like a good little Miss."  
  
The train was slowing as it pulled up to a new platform. Spike positioned himself by the doors of the carriage, while Dru stood, still smiling, examining the frail bleeding woman's face. Tracing little patterns in the blood with her nails and delicately licking little blood-tinged salty tears from the womans jawline. The doors opened but no-one boarded the train. The station was deserted. Spike threw Dru a smirk and called out as the doors rattled closed again.  
  
"No playmates to share the fun this time round I'm afraid Miss.."  
  
Spike stalked back up the carriage, til he came face to face with the terrified woman. Dru held her out for him, still keeping a tight hold on her throat. He stood an inch from the woman's nose and stared her down. "Oh well," he shrugged nonchalantly, and grinned at Dru as his face morphed into that of a demon, fangs petruding either side of his mouth obscenely, "Reckon that means more of you for me and Dru to share."  
  
********************************************************* 


	3. London's Burning

Chapter 3  
  
LONDON'S BURNING  
  
  
  
The blood lay in little regimented rivulets on the floor of the train carriage, trickling along the indentations in the wood and metal floor. When Spike had first ripped the woman's throat open the warm blood had spurted right across the carriage, dousing the doors with a coat of thick red paint. Dru had laughed uproarously and trailed her hands through the fountain of dark artery blood as it sprayed past her, licking it luxouriously off her fingers. The woman's dismembered body had been left half on the train and half on the platform of Embankment tube station, where the nicely bloodied pair had exited the train, making sure to scatter some of the smaller parts of the woman (fingers, ears, small chunks of ripped flesh) onto the tracks for the underground mice to feast upon. A station manager had caught Drusilla, thoroughly blood-stained, tossing body parts into the tunnel and making little squeaking noises hoping to entice the vampire mice out of their hiding holes for a meal. The horrified attendant had been quickly dispatched by Spike who, after a short-lived chase through the tiled corridors, had snapped the man's neck and (much to Dru's amusement) succeeded in pulling the man's head clean off his body with the aid of the downward escalator and a fire axe. The man's decapitated body was later discovered, propped in a sitting position, at the bottom of the escalator. The head was found (next to the broken body of one of the other attendants) in the Customer Service booth, turned to one side, eyes wide open, it appeared to be watching the security monitors.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
As Spike and Dru emerged from the station onto the grand Victoria Embankment, cool night air rolled off the water in whispered waves, starlight and the bright moon bathing the expansive river in silver. People still flooded the streets. Many couples stood by the river gazing romantically across the churning water.  
  
"What do you feel like now, my love? River boat ride? Those sea-faring types are always a bit gristly mind.."  
  
Insted of replying Drusilla slipped from Spike's arms and moved slowly, predatorialy forward. She closed her eyes and shook her hair out, flexing her long fingers and rotating her hands gracefully, she seemed to be allowing the smells and sensations of the night and all it's surrogate children to wash over her. For a moment she looked positively enraptured, a beatific smile spreading slowly across her face. Then she spun around and draped herself against Spike's chest, cradling her head beneath his chin, almost purring with sensual delight.  
  
"The river holds many secrets, much older than you and I.. older than the city itself. Water and secrets, never to be revealed. There are bodies down there, Spike. Lots and lots. They call to me, whsipering all their deaths.. So many years buried.."  
  
Spike was perfectly used to Drusilla's pretty, incoherant ramblings, he actually found most of them quite endearing. It was only when he was eager to be off doing something or killing someone that her prescient cryptic poetics would start to grate on his nerves slightly. He'd always steer her back to him whenever she got a bit too far away in her mind. He found a hard, passionate kiss was always a good way to snap her out of one of her reveries. He found her mouth with his in an instant. She kissed him back deeply then broke off and giggled.  
  
"It's no time for swimming, Spike. Let's us find some fire tonight. London's burning."  
  
"That's mon petite rouge belle." Spike smiled. "What do ya fancy? Haven't been down around the Tower in a while.. plenty of gormless tourists and wankers in costume down that way. I've always wondered what those Beefeaters taste like. Doubt it's anything like beef.."  
  
"Real fire, Spike.. ravishing, scorching, murderous, golden fire."  
  
"Alright, pet. Whatever you want. I know just the place."  
  
******************************************************  
  
Just off London Bridge, down toward Bishopsgate and the City there were, as with everywhere else that night, quite a few people milling merrily about. Bars were still packed, pubs looked like they had no plans of ringing in the last orders anytime soon, taxi's sped frequently along the road.  
  
The narrow street that led up toward the Monument was dark. More than a few folks were slumped against the base of the 200ft high column, blind drunk and rambling. Some creative person had draped a football scarf around Charles II's neck and spray-painted a red mohawk on the Duke of York's head. The smell was an almost overpowering one of piss and beer.  
  
A thick-set middle-aged man draped in a large St Georges flag stumbled out of an alleyway, trousers unbuttoned, as they approached. He leered at Dru, swaying in the invisible breeze of the intoxicated, then decided to lean heavily against the nearest wall. He seemed undaunted by (or perhaps drunkenly oblivious to) Spike's decidedly threatening presense.  
  
"'Ello 'ello, you're a bit of awright aren'tcha? How much you goin' for? Come on back 'ere wiv me luv, I'll show ya me little friend.. "  
  
At this Spike grabbed the drunken man's head with both hands and twisted it sharply to the left with a loud snap. The man fell to the ground.  
  
"Wanker.." he spat.  
  
Spike went to grab the man, anger still coursing through him. He had a sudden desire to make a royal mess. Maybe he'd drag the arsehole's body into the piss-soaked alleyway and have a bit of fun with his insides, or see if he couldn't hit the gilded flame atop the Monument from the ground with the man's eyeballs.. Dru stopped him. She was eyeing the open entrance to the column avidly. A youngish couple appeared to be frivolously debating whether or not to enter and climb the 311 steps to the viewing gallery at the top. The young woman smacked her companion on the arm lightly, turned and disappeared through the old oak door with a playful shriek. The young man quickly followed with an impish grin on his face. Drusilla smiled dreamily.  
  
"Where the fire started we shall start our own, shan't we Spike?"  
  
"My vicious, wicked plum has never been more inspired."  
  
"My darling boy.." Dru planted a kiss on Spike's forehead as he inclined his head to her. They started toward the looming column, Spike making sure to give the dead man a good kick in the head as he stepped over the body.  
  
******************************************************  
  
They stepped inside the darkened stairwell that spiralled dizzyingly upward, stopping just inside the large wooden door to listen for a moment, gauging the location of the couple. Spike heaved the heavy door closed behind them with a loud bang and dropped the antiquated iron latch into place, enveloping them in almost total darkness and near-silence. The woman's playful shreiks could be heard echoing down the stone stairwell from somewhere not far above. Dru's smile widened.  
  
"No way out, Spike. Only one way down." She paused and whispered in a curious, child-like voice. "Do you think they can fly?"  
  
"Don't know, luv." He pretended to ponder the thought a moment. "They didn't look particularly aerodynamic.." He grinned at his lover and quirked an eyebrow. "Want to find out?"  
  
Dru giggled cheekily and skipped up the first few age-worn granite steps.  
  
They quickly caught up with the young couple, who had made it about halfway up the column reasonbly quickly but stopped, panting, for a break before making the last push for the summit. Making sure to stay just a few dozen steps behind them to avoid detection, they glided silently up the smooth stone steps. As they neared the top the carefree atmosphere they'd been trailing seemed to quieten, the giggles and shreiks ceased and an air of ominous cold seemed to swirl through the Monument, there was a new smell in the air. Fear. As if the couple sensed they were not alone. At one point they heard the man call somewhat nervously back down the stairwell, obviously at the prompting of his young companion.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
His voice echoed past Spike and Drusilla tremulously, causing Dru to surpress an expectant, excited cackle. She pressed her index finger to her lips and made a Shh motion to Spike in the darkness. Spike, almost laughing, forced down the urge to yell something sinister up the stairs to freak the couple out a bit. Dru noticed and moved her finger to his lips and shook her head with a smile. They stood still, silent. Soon the couple's footsteps were heard again, for a moment it seemed like they were coming back down and Spike tensed, ready to pounce.. but then the footsteps became fainter and a creaking noise soon followed. The door to the viewing platform was being opened. A cold wind blew down the stairwell, whipping Drusilla's hair around her smiling face. She dropped her head back and kissed Spike, took his hand and turned, grinning maliciously, and began to ascend the last few dozen steps to the looming doorway. Outside the stars were visible. They blinked quietly in the inky night sky, reflecting prettily in the darkened windows of the nearby buildings. A few thin whisps of stratus cloud passed raggedly across the moon. Together, Spike and Dru stepped out onto platform that overlooked the sparkling London night.  
  
The couple were standing, leaning against each other near the stone ramparts, looking out over the city. The woman was the first to notice them. She looked momentarily alarmed but resolved to remain calm. She nudged her boyfriend in the ribs with her elbow and indicated toward the doorway with her eyes.  
  
"I told you I heard something.." She whispered in a low voice intended only for her lover. He half rolled his eyes at her and looked casually over to where Spike and Dru where standing and gave a careless sniff.  
  
"So? God, Helen, you're so paranoid. It's not like they followed us up here.."  
  
The couple started, and both glanced over to Spike and Dru quickly, as the mysterious couple had suddenly broken into peels of sharp cackling laughter.. almost as if they had heard his words and found them somehow funny. The man's eyes darkened as he watched Spike and Drusilla's apparent amusement with a growling sense of aprehension. He clasped Helen's hand and began to move toward the door.  
  
"Come on, let's go. We'll find somewhere else.."  
  
"Rob..?" Helen squeaked as Spike moved quickly to block the exit and Drusilla stepped toward them.  
  
"Are you going down?" Drusilla enquired innocently. "After such a long journey into the night, young folks and their young feet need resting.."  
  
"Yeah," joined Spike, "can't be leaving just yet now can we? The party's not even begun."  
  
Helen and Rob looked nervously back and forth between Spike and Dru. The feeling had changed from one of suspicion to one of imminent danger.  
  
"Come on, mate," Rob frowned at Spike and tried to move toward the door. "I don't want any trouble."  
  
"Grand shame that," Spike tutted with mock regret, then, stepping up right to Rob's face, glared directly into his eyes. "'Cuz you're gonna get it."  
  
Rob puffed out his chest and drew himself up to his full height in an attempt to look threatening.. or, at the least, look half as threatening as Spike did at that precise moment. Rob sighed.  
  
"What did I ever do to you, exactly?"  
  
"Nothing, mate. Not a bloody thing. Lucky for you.. cuz that really would have been a nasty scene."  
  
"Alright, alright.. look, can we just leave then? Can you move? I don't know what's the matter with you but find someone else to take it out on, ok? C'mon Helen.."  
  
Rob made a move for the door, trying to shove past Spike, at which point Drusilla reached out stealthily and quick as lightening and grabbed Helen by the back of the neck. Dru dragged the screaming Helen backwards and round the platform til she was out of sight. Spike smashed Rob's head into the stone wall and grinned.  
  
"Unfortunately.." he shrugged, "for you anyway.. it really doesn't make much difference to me who I take it out on. As soon-to-be-corpses go..." Spike put his boot squarely into Rob's face. "You'll do."  
  
Dru had tied Helen to one of the flagpoles round the other side of the column and stuffed a large frilly handkerchief into her mouth and was busy feeding off her left wrist, keeping her wide green eyes tilted upward, watching the young woman as she turned gradually from healthy pink to deathly white.  
  
"Fire burning for you, Princess?" Spike inquired as he sauntered up behind her. He flicked his zippo lighter shut with a small clink noise and inhaled deeply on his freshly-lit cigarette.  
  
Dru looked up at Spike, her bloody mouth turning down slightly at the corners. She looked almost bored, an expression rarely seen on Drusilla's face as she was usually more than capable of finding amusement in any kind of action the involved bloodshed. She ran her long-nailed fingers up and down the dying woman's arm aimlessly and cast her eyes downward.  
  
"They don't fight it, Spike. Throw up their hands in fear and die. There's no fire here. I fear not one among a million.." Dru frowned deeply, eyes surveying the mess that was Helen with sadness and contempt. Spike circled Dru, slipping his arms around her waist and holding her tight.  
  
"We'll just have to make 'em burn then won't we, baby. A little reminder, a kick in the teeth, a baptism of fire."  
  
Drusilla prodded the woman's limp body with a long finger and nodded.  
  
**********************************************************  
  
Smoke billowed from the top of the Monument until the early hours of the morning. Due to the earlier extravagant firework display, much of the city was blanketed in a soft mist of smoke anyway, causing the fire high atop the Monument to go largely unnoticed for some hours. When the fire brigade, huffing and puffing with the exertion of climbing 311 steps in full fire gear, finally made their way to the top on the column, high pressure water- hoses in hand, to extinguish what the Met had initially called "a mean- spirited act of wanton vandalism, most likely perpetrated by anarchists intending to cast a pall on the Queen's Jubilee celebrations", they discovered, much to their horror and surprise, amid the fire-blackened stone (and what looked like a few empty lighter fluid cans), the charred remains of two people. Two people locked in what looked to be a highly compromising position. A Pompeii-like pair, eternally locked together, hunched obscenely over the edge of the dizzying observation deck.  
  
From the horrified firefighters point of view, and with the coroner's skeptical agreement, it looked almost as if the scene had been set up to give the impression that the unnamed, now-smoldering young couple had been so busy making love and watching the jovial London night pass them by that they failed to notice as life slowly slipped away from them and they burnt carelessly, absently to a crisp...  
  
*********************************************************** 


End file.
